Red Days
by Saemi67
Summary: AU.Terror has taken Paris since strange and cruel murders. Frollo is investigating on them, but why does he feel so angsty? Bad memories and troubles are coming for everyone...a nightmare which begun 18 years ago. OCs, but Jacques is Takhira's. First fic.
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

**Paris, 1482.**

The streets were empty, not a single person dared to go out at this hour in the night anymore. Especially not after what had been happening for almost two months. Even tramps and scoundrels had found places to hide.

A stranger at the moment would assume the city had been taken by the plague upon arrival at the empty city. But it wasn't the plague, just the fear, plain fear.

The hospice was now full of 'inhabitants,' most of whom weren't injured nor ill, but was safe and Jacques, the doctor, easily ignored them.

On the other hand, he was taking care of a gypsy and he was trying hard to keep his complaints to himself. His patient was silent.

All they could hear were footsteps outside the room. Jacques had to admit that this very patient was quite impressive; he didn't even moan or complain. Surprisingly, Clopin had a small smile on his face, and for no reason. His left eye would never be able to see light anymore, and several cuts on had been sewn up.

The doctor finished his work, and began to clean his implements.

"You should rest now" he said to his patient.

Clopin looked stood still a moment, and thanked him before asking. "How could I pay you ? I don't have much money you know…"

"Nothing to worry about, Claude said he would take the charge. Yes, this very Claude, don't look at me this way, please !"

"May I talk to him…?"

"If you want, I'll fetch him."

…

Frollo was sitting on a chair, watching through the window without seeing anything, deep in his thoughts. It was now the second time he was waiting in this very hospice, in less than a month, for news about someone.

He felt broken, lonely, and lost. How could a common murder be so much trouble ? This living nightmare began with one murder, which seemed not so special.

The judge suddenly heard something and he turned quickly but saw nothing more than the candle. Then, hidden in shadows, he saw a familiar silhouette. Someone was standing there, staring at him. Frollo slowly stood up and walked nearer before hearing a deep voice.

"You're scared, aren't you ? You can't understand what's happening, nor can you remember. You feel oppressed… yet you deny the evidence…"

Before the minister could answer, his friend interrupted the 'conversation,' telling him that his new 'friend' wanted to see him. Apparently, Jacques didn't see anyone, but with one last glance, Frollo noticed that the mysterious person had disappeared.

On his way to Clopin's room, he grew more and more ill-at-ease. Like the mysterious man said, he felt oppressed.

Once he walked in the room, he stared at the gypsy, his voice stuck in his throat. Without holding up his head, Clopin said quietly "I'd like to thank you, for paying this doctor. I don't know what…"

"Why...?"

Clopin looked up, surprised.

"Why did you protect me...? I could have protected myself... Look at you, now...! You've only got one eye left !" continued Frollo.

"It could have been worse, you know..." answered Clopin.

"I didn't ask you anything..." some tears dropped from his eyes. "I always yell at you, insulted your people... why are you so... why...?"

He couldn't continue because of his tears. He looked down.

"There are no logical reasons to kill someone..." started Clopin. "So why would be one to protect someone ? "

Frollo didn't answer, Clopin walked towards him.

"Come on, don't cry please. It's not your fault; I acted on my own..."

He caught some tears of the minister.

"Don't waste such beautiful tears on me."

Frollo looked at him, without knowing how he should answer or react. He was starting to weaken, he could feel it. But he couldn't know why, what had happened these last two months was more than disturbing. It was true, but the more he was thinking about it, the more he felt that something terrible would come out to break him. He turned his eyes away from the one he considered an enemy for long, then he saw the same shadow he saw sooner.

He harshly turned towards the direction where it was and stood frozen.

Clopin noticed his odd behavior and looked in the same direction, curious. He saw nothing special, and stared at the judge. He could sense he was extremely tensed, but couldn't guess why. So he asked him if something was wrong, but the answer was confusing.

The King of the Gypsies wondered if the minister had seen something or someone in the reflection of the mirror they had been looking at.

But the main questions were : how has this nightmare begun ? And, will it ever end ?


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

It was a day, which at first seemed to be normal, that all began. On a bright morning, the streets were full of people chatting and shopping. But, unfortunately, something had gone wrong the previous night. A woman's scream was heard. Soldiers ran to see what was happening, the woman had became hysterical and kept on crying.

"Murder ! My sister ! Catch the murderer, I want him hung!!" she yelled, tears flooding her face.

She was crying so loud that the minister of justice, himself, ended up examining the corpse after having ordered his soldiers to keep away the hysteric woman, his new captain, Phoebus de Châteaupers, at his side.

It was quite strange, but not completely unusual. It wasn't rare to find murdered women, especially whores, on the street; but the women found dead seemed to be a noble, judging from her dress and jewels. Strangely, the murderer didn't steal any of her precious jewels nor intended to rape her, her dress wasn't tore and no trace of violence could be seen on her body. If it weren't for the blood, he could have thought she had just fainted. Furthermore, the street where she was lying was not the safer street, particularly not for a woman of wealth. She must have been 23 at the most.

"It seems she had been stabbed right in the chest, sir" commented the captain.

Frollo nodded, thinking, he had seen this woman several times this week before. He remembered that her name was Catherine and that she was the daughter of a rich merchant in Paris. Her family was part of what was commonly called "**petite noblesse**" (gentry) and she was a married woman, but it was all he knew about her. She wasn't a person the minister really wanted to see frequently. But her death was weird. If it wasn't for her jewels, nor her virtue, why would someone kill her?

Leaving his thoughts behind, he glanced around, this street was composed of low-class inns and whorehouses, but it wasn't the most worrying thing at the moment. The dagger which had been used wasn't there, of course, and looking at the wound and blood on the clothes, the judge could deduce that the murderer had stabbed the poor woman and took the dagger out of her corpse with considerable strength.

Suddenly, Phoebus called him, and then pointed out that there seemed to be letters written with blood, but the corpse was hiding a part of them. The young captain carefully moved her, gulping a bit, and they could clearly read on the wall **"pretentious slut"**.

The two men glanced at each other, this murder would not be easy to solve, definitely not.

The sister of the victim had calmed down; she was sitting in a corner, hiding her face in her hands and weeping. Soldiers stood next to her, others went to people who lived around her and asked if they had seen, or heard, something this night. But the only answer they got was "nothing".  
A soldier with a large mustache walked along the street, hoping to find something, the dagger maybe. Instead, he saw blood, at the entrance of a house which was surely deserted. He stepped in and glanced around, then noticed some blood drops on the stairs.

He ran back in the street to find the captain and minister to tell them that maybe the murderer was still hiding inside. The two thought the idea ridiculous, but didn't ignore it since there could be another corpse there. The soldier with a big mustache went with them, followed by a stocky soldier.

Phoebus went upstairs first, in case something or someone dangerous might be waiting for them, followed by Frollo who was wondering why he had such fools following behind. The two soldiers were shaking so much that their armor was clinking loudly, their helmets knocking against one another.

'_If someone is really up there, he knew already and had time to prepare himself for an attack !' _thought Frollo sighing in exasperation. Plus he hadn't even asked these two idiots to follow.

Once he was standing on the first floor, he felt suddenly oppressed without explanation. Phoebus was walking carefully looking around; there was nothing, just a big empty room. Phoebus held his hand to his nose saying "This smell, like blood… But it's not recent, as if the place had become saturated with the smell long ago… And to be honest, I don't feel very well in here."

"If this smell is blood, lots of it must have been drawn… " pointed out the judge.

Before they could add something else, a shriek from behind startled the two. The stocky soldier was still shaking, looking overly panicked, and glancing around nervously, mumbling something to the soldier with a large mustache. He seemed frozen, his mouth slightly open, not aware of the severe look from his captain and the minister.

"What now ! What's wrong ?" asked Phoebus trying to hide his annoyance. It wasn't the first time these two were acting like rookies.

"If you're too scared to stay here, just go ! You incompetent fools !" said Frollo, getting worked up.

"S…sorry captain…sir… It's just…" began the smaller soldier. "I remember that many corpses have been found here, many years ago…and the house was already deserted…"

"And it had been a carnage !" finished the other one. "When we found them all, it was because people living around had smelt the smell of the death and rot! They had been there for a while before they were discovered! There was so much blood… look !! The floor is still red!"

Even if this seemed to be a tale created to scare people, Frollo couldn't deny that the ground had an odd shade changing from gray to a strange mix between brown and dark red. Plus, the oppression he was feeling since he was here. Maybe something really happened here, but was there something to do with the current murder? These two idiots had at least another string to their bow for once.

"Do you know anything more precise about this ?" he asked.

"Err…Four people were found, I think…" answered the one with a mustache." But it was strange, because one was a gypsy, another one was a thief and…oh yes! The last two had quite a high rank, one of them was even a woman."

"And it happened 18 years ago ! We know it because some old soldiers working for the minister before you, sir, had seen it! The story is well known by soldiers, and since it's been only a week you arrived captain, you couldn't know about it. The murderer was never found!"

Frollo stood silent a moment. Meanwhile the captain was very surprised to hear such precise information from these two. The judge wondered why he couldn't remember anything of this, he had become the protégé of the past minister when he was fifteen, twenty-one years ago to be precise. How could he have forgotten such a thing? But when he heard one of the two men say that it had taken place at the beginning of spring, it was clear that he couldn't have helped his old master at this moment.

Back then, even if he couldn't clearly remember, someone had attacked him and made him fall in the Seine. Since the Spring warmth hadn't returned yet, he had taken ill with a fever, and the loss of blood from several wounds didn't help at all. Fortunately, the fever hadn't been high enough to kill him, but he had stayed in bed for almost three months.

He could vaguely remember that his master kept notes from all strange and unresolved things in his old room; he told him long ago that when he would become minister, he could read them if he felt the need to. The past minister had been a kind of father for him, so he never changed anything in the room. Maybe it was time to go back in this room and look for these notes.

Then, he realized that this dark affair had nothing to do with the murder which took place last night, the girl was far too young to have any link between her and these 18-years-old murders.

Frollo shook his head, this was confusing. Then, something caught his eye, a person was there, with them! He was standing, half hidden behind a wall. Frollo ran toward him, but he apparently had run away, if someone had really been here.

"Sir ? Are you alright ?" asked the captain walking to his side.

"Yes, I just…thought someone was there…"

Except for an old broken mirror, and some of its pieces on the ground, nothing else was standing here. Looking at the mirror, the captain felt a bit uneasy, he could swear there was dried blood on some pieces. 'Uneasy' was a an appropriate way to describe what Frollo felt, his stomach twitched a moment, giving him nausea when he looked at the broken reflection, as if an old memory would appear. There were so many things he wished he had completely forgotten.

Once outside, Frollo ordered the two soldiers to stay in the street and to watch over the scene, while Phoebus would pass another order to his soldier to be careful to anything happening in the streets of Paris.

"Two pieces of silver that he listens to his libido !" said the stocky soldier.

"Three that he listens to his conscience !" answered the one with a large mustache.

Phoebus rolled his eyes; a man was hesitating to go see a whore standing outside the whorehouse, although it was daylight, soldiers tried to have a bit of fun the way they could…

Frollo walked to his horse, but didn't ride it. He walked into town holding the bridle, deep in his thoughts. He thought this murder would not be the only one, he couldn't explain why, but he felt he needed to resolve not only this murder but the 18-year-old mystery had to be explained. He looked briefly the sky, and prayed silently God to help him.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter two

The news had spread in a short time. Before Frollo could reach the Palace of Justice, a man in his forties wearing rich clothes ran to him. "Sir, my wife…Is that true? Is Catherine really dead?" he asked.

Frollo recognized the man; he was Raoul of Monterlo, a man of noble lineage with a large fortune. He was not the kind of person the minister really appreciated. Monterlo was someone who seemed proper at first, but when you looked closer, you could see a person full of inappropriate pride with a big mouth. When it was about talking or complaining, he was present, but when it was about acting… He would run away from anything first among a crowd.

"Yes, Sir Monterlo" he answered. "She was killed last night, stabbed. Your sister-in-law was the one who found her, in Rue Du Tisserand. She's still there, with your wife's body. You may go see her before my soldiers carry away her, just tell them you have my permission."

The rich man became livid at the mention of the corpse; he looked down, embarrassed, before answering. "Thanks sir, but… I can't go there now; I've… got to tell my father-in-law first. Well, excuse me…"

Frollo held back an irritated sigh while the other man left, nearly at a run. All of the people from noble lineage he met were definitely the same: able to commit crime to save what they called 'their honor,' and mostly they paid someone to do it so they didn't tarnish their reputation if the man got caught. '_Huge pride, but no guts_' thought the minister with irony.

Hard to believe as it was, the minister had no noble blood in his veins; his parents had been people from the middle-class, they had money thanks to an inheritance his father had gotten from an uncle, before he was born. His father had been a soldier before his marriage and became an arms manufacturer after that; his reputation for quality brought him a fair income.

But Claude Frollo had very few memories of him; he had been sent to tutor at the age of five, adults had thought he was far too young but they had been stunned when they realized how easily he learned. He was an exceptionally gifted child, and spent most of his time reading every book he found. At the age of thirteen, he had almost the knowledge and the wisdom of an adult, but he had no experience and he lacked maturity. For years, he hadn't known any love except what he had for books.

But when he was fourteen, his father died of plague. He came back home to look after his mother and his younger brother. He didn't even know he had a brother until he came home. This child was named Jehan, and was only two when Claude arrived.

Claude stayed until his mother died in an accident six months later, which caused great shock to him. But the worse came after her burial; a distance relative adopted his young brother, judging Claude incapable of caring for him.

A long loneliness followed him after the incident; he tried to persuade them, but nothing helped. Without the late Minister of Justice, he would had fallen into depression; his late master treated him as he was his own son and helped him to become the man he was now.

His life was lightened up two years later, a night in Notre-Dame during a severe winter. He went with his master to the cathedral, he couldn't remember exactly why, and found the new archdeacon holding something wrapped in blankets. It was a baby, a deformed boy; to the archdeacon words, his mother died because of the cold in front of the cathedral. A gypsy woman, she had been already weak before her death and came to Notre-Dame in order to save her child from the cold and illness.

Claude, looking at the deformed baby, felt his heart melt with pity. Life could be so cruel to 'normal' people, how cruel would it be to this poor thing? People fear what is different, and reject it, how could the poor child survive? He hadn't listened to what the two men were saying until he heard the archdeacon say. "Maybe I should expose the child on the square, to the charity…"

"I would like to adopt this child" he had said.

His senior had looked at him stunned; his master told him he was too young but Claude was determined. He didn't want someone to take the child away from him or, worse, to drown the boy. The idea was unbearable for him, one unfortunate orphan had been already taken away from his care, and he didn't want to live through that again. The love he had kept deep inside him needed to bloom and to be shared. He became a father to the deformed child, named him _Quasimodo_ and raised him all these years inside of Notre-Dame.

Gypsies danced in the middle of the street, but they stopped and stepped back at the sight of the minister. Frollo wasn't fond of gypsies; not because they were strangers, he didn't really care about that, but because most of those in the streets were thieves or criminals. And criminals were actually what he hated the most in the world; he had seen so many of them since he was almost fifteen that they disgusted his very soul. Gypsies all hid in what they called the '_Court of Miracles_,' and lots of them had committed at least one crime, from stealing or a murder.

To Frollo, even if life wasn't easy, especially when you lived in the street, there was no reason to justify murder. Life was a precious gift from God, and no one had the right to take it away from anyone.

He kept on walking and glanced suspiciously at them, had they anything to warrant fearing him? Before he could look for guilt, he heard someone talk to them in a foreign language he couldn't understand; but he recognized the voice and it already irritated him. "That damn moron again" he muttered for himself.

A gypsy in colorful clothes stared at him now, an insolent little smile on his face. This gypsy was always succeeded making him loses his temper, and the fool took pleasure in it.

"Well, good morning sir," the insolent gipsy said in a cheerful voice.

Frollo turned his back, trying to ignore him. Suddenly, he felt a hand catching his free arm and saw a ridiculous puppet version of the gypsy agitatingly in front of his eyes and telling him in a high-pitched voice. "Oh, that's just SO mean! You mustn't ignore an old friend like this!"

The word 'friend' associated to this stupid puppeteer sounded very wrong. The judge dropped the reigns to his horse a moment and slapped away the irritating puppet but seconds later the gipsy had had his hat in his left hand, humming teasingly. "You should stay this way, you look **prettier**," the gypsy said, giggling.

Frollo was now boiling mad. The minister hated comments on his hair. All patience lost, he turned harshly and stalked furiously to the puppeteer; he took back his hat, the gipsy showed no reluctance in relinquishing it. "One more trick like this, and say farewell to your hands. I've wasted enough time with you. Don't underestimate me; I don't need my men to take care of you."

Then, he rode his horse and took direction of the Palace of Justice again.

Clopin smiled, still looking in the direction of the minster as he walked away. Then, he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned back to see a young and beautiful woman with a serious expression. "What is it Esmeralda?" he asked.

"Don't play innocent with me!" she replied.

"When will you stop getting on his nerves? He is dangerous; he won't hesitate to act on his threat! And you know he can carry it out without any help! You're going to get in big trouble!"

"I know he can, but I also know he won't," Clopin replied.

"How can you be so sure he won't? Clopin, I'm worried about you!"

"And I'm sorry about it; but look, this man may be severe and is not as weak as he looks but I doubt he would harm anyone the way he threatened. It's against his convictions…"

Esmeralda was skeptical. "Say you're right, why do you keep teasing him? Maybe he won't really harm you but I wouldn't be surprised if one day your nose gets broken…"

"I like the way he reacts; I think it's really amusing" he answered laughing. "He is the kind of person I like to tease the most. I can't help it, and otherwise I get bored!"  
_'That's what he was getting at!' ___The young dancer thought, annoyed but amused. They walked together to join their 'brothers,' they had a show to finish.

Clopin liked to make children laugh at his puppets and to impress them with his acrobatics, even if he never earned or stole any money from them; they were children after all. He was the leader of Gypsies, their king, and he had a lot of responsibilities.

He didn't encourage his brothers or sisters to steal, but sometimes they didn't have many choices. While he didn't appreciate murders, he could forgive when a fellow gypsy had to protect themselves first. Still, he didn't really trust those who murdered without reason. He was a second father to every child in the Court of Miracles, but Esmeralda was special for him.

Esmeralda was a beautiful young woman with a temper. She was an excellent dancer, every move she made during her performance had grace and energy. She was good-hearted and wanted to help as many people as she could, but it made her reckless and she was sometimes too confident and proud. Clopin was an uncle and a father for her; since she was an orphan, he had taken care of her from the age of five and taught how to dance.

Now she was independent but she couldn't leave those who were her family, so she contributed to the life they built in the Court of Miracles. She had a white pet goat named it Djali and taught him some tricks and it followed her everywhere she went.

She was playing on the tambourine so Djali could 'dance' to the rhythm when she saw the new captain of the guards walking down the street.

The last one was corrupt and mean, and she hoped this one was more lenient. He seemed to be someone trustworthy and was quite good-looking as well. When he saw her, he smiled before he threw three gold pieces into the hat in front of Djali.

Esmeralda smiled with gratitude and watched him walk away.

Frollo was in his late master's room; he had been looking for the notes and had just found a parcel of pieces of paper tied up with a red ribbon. On the first piece of paper were written "_March 1464_", it must be what interested him.

He left the room, locked it, and went to his study. When he entered the study, he heard a noise from outside; he put the notes on his desk and went outside to see what had happened.  
Soldiers were arguing with someone, a woman from what he could make of the quiet voice.

At first he thought it was the victim's sister, but he was wrong. When he arrived to speak to them, the soldiers stood straight and one of them spoke. "Sir! Sorry for disturbing you, but this young woman wanted to enter the Palace. She didn't understand that she have no right to do so!"

Frollo looked at the woman in question. She was very young, seventeen perhaps; she was wearing a beautiful blue dress, and her long blond hair was a long plait. She was really lovely. She seemed in distress and after the soldier's speech, she begged,"Sir, please! May I see Phoebus?"

Her request puzzled him a second, but looking closer…"Are you his sister?" he asked.

She giggled an instance, blushing, before she answered. "Not at all, sir! I am his fiancée!" Frollo raised an eyebrow. "It's been so long, I miss him so much! Oh, please, let me see him!" She seemed very desperate, but he had no idea at the moment where his captain was.

Phoebus went inside the Palace of Justice, wondering why some guards told him he was a lucky man. He had just talked with the sister of Catherine of Monterlo, and she said something strange that he felt he had to tell the minister.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter three

Phoebus walked to the minister's study, the door was half open and he could see Frollo reading something. He knocked to alert the minister he was stepping into the room. The judge looked up and put down his papers when he realized who was interrupting.

"Excuse me Sir, but I heard something quite weird." He began.

Frollo nodded, inviting him to continue.

"Well, I wondered why Mrs. Ramonchamp; Catherine of Monterlo's sister, had gone to this particular street. She is a married woman, has two children and is wealthy, so why did she go there? She didn't answer the question, but she confessed she knew her sister went there last night and she was worried about it because she didn't come back. That's all I know exactly at the moment…"  
"That's quite strange, as you said." said the minister after a short silence. "We know that she went there willingly although it is not safe for a woman of her rank. We need to ask her family if they know anything. I'll take care of it later. Thank you, Captain."

Phoebus was going to leave when he was called upon. "By the way, your fiancée is looking for you."

The captain froze, and looked at the judge like he had two heads. Frollo knitted his brows and repeated. "Your fiancée, don't tell me you don't remember her!" Phoebus looked confused a moment and then asked suddenly. "Is she a young woman with blond hair?"

"Yes, she is," answered Frollo with irritation, how could he have forgotten something like that? But to his surprise, Phoebus looked very annoyed and put his face in his hand.

"We-are-NOT-engaged!" he spat. "I hoped she would have changed, but apparently she hasn't. Excuse me…"

It was the minister's turn to be confused; he hadn't expected this kind of reaction at all; Phoebus reacted as if such an engagement was outrageous. But, well, it wasn't his business; he mustn't get involved with it. Plus, he had more important matters to deal with this very moment; he had no time to waste with the problems of his captain.

Phoebus was tense. When he returned to Paris, he thought years had made him more mature so she must have grown up; but it wasn't the case. His daily life was going to get troubled, and that was not good; especially now, after what happened. Nothing should disturb him in his work, but she was going to bother him whether he liked it or not. The best solution that came to his mind was to avoid and ignore her, and it wasn't an easy task.

'_Why don't you give up, Fleur-de-Lys? I already told you I loved you as a sister, and my feelings won't change…_' he thought sadly.

They had known each other since their childhood, but Fleur-de-Lys one day confessed to him that she loved him and he didn't return her feelings. It had been very difficult to reject her, since they were close and he didn't want to hurt her; but even after that, she kept on acting as if they were going to marry one another. So, when he left Paris to become a soldier, he was quite relieved.

The captain sighed heavily; this was going to be really exhausting.

Meanwhile, a young girl was packing a basket and preparing to go out. Before she went outside, she heard her father calling her. "Arianne! A woman has been found dead this very morning; please be careful!"

"Dad, it's daylight and soldiers are everywhere" she answered. "I'm going to the cathedral."

Arianne was fifteen and she was the daughter of an artisan, her mother died when she was very young. She was educated by her father, Pierre Frenin, who was a kind-hearted man a bit absent-minded sometimes. She had long red hair, her cheeks were freckled, and she was quite small. She was not particularly beautiful and very common-looking. Her life was calm and nothing really happened until the arrival of her father's assistant, two years ago.

_At the time, she was extremely shy and didn't dare to show herself; she was ashamed of her freckled face because of other children teasing her, and she kept her hair into pigtails. She helped her father with his paints and puppets; her favorite activity was embroidering. _

_One day, the Minister of Justice himself came into her father's shop; she was so impressed that she ran to hide in her room. Minutes later, her father showed her beautiful wood sculptures; she stood voiceless in awe at them. They were almost perfect._

_She was told that the artist was going to join them that day after and become their partner. Arianne was intimidated yet excited about it; such an artist working with them on the Minister of Justice's advice … what an honor!_

_The following day, when she heard her father welcoming this person; she was hiding behind the wall. The minister had came along with the man, but she couldn't hear what they were saying. She just could hear voices, and her heart had beaten faster when an unknown, sweet and shy voice could be heard. _

'_Oh, my God! It's him!' she thought. 'What should I do?' _

_Slowly, she peered around the wall. She didn't see the mystery man at first and so came closer around the wall._

_She gave out a surprised yelp, placing a hand on her mouth and hid again. She must have been dreaming!_

_She quickly looked again and froze. He was deformed_

_She stood a moment there, not moving, her thoughts in a haze._

"_Arianne!" her father called out, making her jump. He was standing by her and whispering. "My new assistant is here, but he is deformed; don't offend him, please. He is as shy as you and never really went outside his home. I think the two of us are not the kind to laugh at someone because of his looks, so I'm counting on you!"_

_To laugh at him? She was too scared. She slowly walked to the workroom and waited her father and the new assistant. When the two men came in, she was surprised to see the young man looking so anxious, even more than she was. "Here is my daughter, Arianne." introduced Pierre. "Arianne, here is my new assistant: Quasimodo."_

This memory made her grin when; the two of them were so shy that they didn't dare speak to one another.

Quasimodo looked so sweet that her heart nearly melted; she didn't care the least about his deformity now. Somehow, Quasimodo helped her to gain confidence in herself. He was always kind to her and encouraged her; it was different from him, she had often thought her father loved her too much to criticize her. Moreover, even if he was shy, he had accepted the fact he was a hunchback and had learnt not to be ashamed of it; since he had an incredible strength and his artistic skills were breath taking, he had things to be proud of enough to 'forget' it.

Yet, he wore a cloak every time he went outside; since he was the bell ringer of Notre-Dame and lived up its towers, he often stayed and worked there and went to their shop when he could.

She sometimes went up there to visit him or to bring him something: food she baked or tools for his work. She usually came to see him in the morning or the afternoon, she had some habits now; they were good friends after all this time.

Arianne started up the stairs when she remembered something that made her giggle.

Months after Quasimodo's arrival, she wanted to surprise him by bringing him lunch; they had become friends and helped each other for so long.

The cheer of meeting her friend faded as she came upstairs. To her huge embarrassment, he already had a guest: the Minister of Justice. Some seconds of silence had passed the moment she arrived, calling out loud Quasimodo. She was so embarrassed that her face was redder than her own hair.

She muttered some excuses before running downstairs, stopping at the bottom.

Quasimodo had looked for her and had invited her up minutes later; that was the day she learned that Quasimodo was Claude Frollo's adoptive son, he left them alone with a smirk.

Quasimodo was tidying up his affects quietly, humming a little tune, when he heard someone approach. He turned to see Arianne coming, a basket in her hand. "Good morning Quasi!" she greeted, smiling.

"Good morning, Arianne, how are you and Pierre?" He was used to call her father by his first name; Pierre had asked him to do so when they first met.

Arianne told him everything was fine for them and gave him the basket; it contained a new knife, several charcoal pencils, and a big book with no title. Quasimodo thanked her with a huge smile, and looked curiously at the book, the cover was in embroidering tissue and pages were blank. "What is it for?" he asked.

"My father tied several pieces of blank paper together and I sewed and embroidered the 'cover' to protect them." She explained grinning."You can use it to keep all your sketches together, or create a collection of little paintings… Dad had the idea when you were looking everywhere for one of your sketches."

The two continued to chat, unaware of three gargoyles watching them. They had been Quasimodo's friends since his childhood; he was the only person who could to see them alive; they kept him company when was lonely in his tower.

"My, my…" muttered the older one. "These two are really as innocent as children!"

"You can't really blame them, Laverne," said the taller gargoyle. "They see each other as friends for now; it will change later."

"Yeah" exclaimed the last one, the fattest of them all. "The one who can't see these two are made for each other must be blind! She's he first person Quasi thinks about when he woke up and when he falls asleep! Doesn't 'e Victor?"

"You're forgetting that she is the one he talks about most all day long, Hugo!"

"We're talking about him, but look at her! She has always this smile and little light in her eyes when they're together; even Frollo noticed that they're made for one another!"

They were not wrong, but Quasimodo's heart was shared between Arianne and his adoptive father. He couldn't think about loving one more than the other, even if it wasn't the same kind of love.

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The pages Frollo had read didn't tell much about the events of the old affair; they were focused on the four people who were killed. It was indeed quite strange; these people had no real connections between them.

Four people of different ranks… A woman, a rich and noble one, named Helen Rosimbourg and who was 19 when she was murdered; a man of wealth, with no real name, known by the name of 'Basile the golden;' a thief and murderer who had long been pursued by the late minister, 'Martin the impossible,' and a gypsy man whose name was unknown. His master had written details on each of them, except for the gypsy. The man must have been a common gypsy, nothing spectacular about his crimes, or special about his looks.

Frollo was still reading the notes when a soldier called him. Catherine of Monterlo's father and sister had came to see him. It was a good occasion to ask them for further information about her.

The man was wracked with grief, his last daughter by his side, holding one of his hands, his eyes reddened by the tears.

A young woman stood behind her, she seemed to be a maid; she had long, dark, straight hair and she was looking down until Frollo made his presence known.

The three of them looked at him. "Sir Tourvilles, Mrs. of Ramonchamp… please accept my sympathy," said politely the minister.

"Minister Frollo, I'll give anything… please, catch this filthy murderer!" exclaimed the merchant.

"That's what I am working on," he answered. "But, I would like to ask you; do you know why your daughter would go Rue du Tisserand by herself late in the night?"

The man looked shocked a moment before answering. "Someone must have tricked or threatened her! She was a faithful wife and a good mistress of the house; look, her closer maid came with us and cried for her loss!" He pointed at the younger woman, who seemed very ill-at-ease. "There's no way she would have gone there, only whores or brigands go there!"

Frollo noticed that Mrs. Ramonchamp suddenly looked very pale, and the young maid shook the moment he had pronounced these words. _'Something isn't right at all; I'd better ask these women… This man loved his daughter too much to see she may have done something bad… '_

He wouldn't get anything from the father, so he let him walk away. But, to his surprise, the young maid still stood in front of him. "Agnes?" called the man.

She didn't answer and looked in his eyes, she seemed so helpless, and her brown eyes had a strange glow when she looked at him. More strangely, she seemed familiar; and yet, as far as Frollo remembered, they had never met.

"Did you have something to say?" he asked, taking an occasion.

Her lips trembled, and her eyes filled up with tears. She hesitated and said, shaking. "Thank you…"

Then she ran, leaving Frollo confused.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter four

Esmeralda was picking up coins people had thrown to watch her dance; she was quite pleased to see there were good pickings this day.

Djali rubbed his head against her leg.

"Today is a good day" she told her pet. "Let's go find Clopin before another show."

She danced and he did puppet shows; she gave him the money she had just earned so he could keep it safe in case some soldiers would try to arrest her.

As she walked, she saw soldiers and held her money close; but she overheard a conversation which caught her attention. They were talking about a woman who had been killed the previous night for an unknown reason, and an insult had been written with her own blood. Esmeralda shivered, she knew some of her people could be cruel; but people who called themselves 'normal' or 'noble' were sometimes much worst and twisted.

'_How can a man kill someone for no reason? Where do they find the pleasure in making suffer someone else?'_ she thought, sighing. _'Life is already so hard…'_

Something else suddenly caught her eyes; a man in strange clothes passed by her in a hurry on a horse. He was holding a piece of paper in his right hand, his clothes seemed expensive and he took the direction of the Palace of Justice. She concluded he must be a kind of messenger. She didn't really care after all, so she made her way among streets Djali following.

Once she reached Clopin's caravan, Djali ran towards him and jumped in his arms. She giggled at the scene while her friend was trying to calm the goat down, which was eagerly licking his face.

Once Djali was satisfied, she proudly showed him what she just earned in one morning. He chuckled as he took it and hid it in his caravan among his puppets.

A bit furtherer away, a legless gipsy was begging. When they recognized him, grinning at each other, they walked up to him.

"So **l'Arapette**, God gave you back your left eye today and took away your legs?" asked teasingly Clopin.

"A real _miracle_!" chuckled at Esmeralda. "Maybe tomorrow he'll offer you one of them back and a nice crutch with it!"

"**Tudieu**! Could you two be more discreet, please?! I have business to keep over here!" muttered the young gipsy commonly called '**l'Arapette**'.

"Well, if people recognize you, you won't have much to bring to the Court of Miracles. You change your handicap every day; there will be no surprise if you come back without any coins in your pocket… " answered the King of gypsies before bursting into laugh with the young woman.

Upset, **l'Arapette** moved away from his laughing friends.

"Oh, come on! 'Just teasing!" cried Esmeralda, still laughing. "You're not the last one to make fun of anyone! And I hope you won't try to spy on me in my changing tent again after that!" she added more seriously.

"He did?!" asked Clopin stunned.

She acquiesced to his question and they went back together to the caravan.

Phoebus was walking, lost in his thought, when he saw several gypsies talking together. One of them, the legless one went away while the two others laughed before leaving seconds later. He recognized the young woman, he had seen her earlier in the morning and he had given her some money.

Thinking about it, she had been dancing near the street where Catherine of Monterlo had been found; she might have seen something, or her friend had. It was worth asking them, he had nothing to lose.

They were now in front of a colorful caravan. As he approached, they froze; they surely wondered what he wanted. A goat was standing in front of the dancer, looking aggressive. He softly cleared his throat.

"Don't worry, I mean no harm," he began, and they seemed to relax. "It's just that a woman was killed last night, in rue du Tisserand…"

"I heard about it…" said softly the young woman.

"Good, I just wanted to know whether you had seen someone or something last night, or if you know anything else that could help…"

They glanced at one another; they must be surprised that the Captain of the Guards was actually asking something so important of them.

"Well, sir, I don't know much about last night… But this street is really dangerous, many criminals are 'hiding' in the inns and there are whorehouses…" said the man. "This is not a secret, though, but there are rich people who sometimes went there when they want to ask a killer's favors or anyone else to do the dirty work."

'_Well, that is interesting'_ thought Phoebus. _'Did she go there for such business?'_

He turned his eyes a second and froze. He saw Fleur-de-Lys walking with her mother. He hoped for a moment she wouldn't notice him but she turned her head in his direction.

In a second, he wondered where he could go or hide away from her; he really didn't want to talk to her now. There was only one place he could hide at this very moment.

Noticing the captain had suddenly turned extremely pale as he looked behind them, Clopin and Esmeralda turned around. Was there some kind of monster?

They saw no such things. When they turned back, the captain had vanished. They stood still, dumbfounded; where had he gone in such little time?

A young, blonde woman passed near them with an older one saying: "Mother, I saw him! I'm sure it was Phoebus! He must not be far, let's go fetch him!"

"Easy, my dear, slow down for me, please."

They were silent a moment, even Djali sat quietly. Clopin looked in his caravan, and glanced by the small window. Phoebus was not there. And how could have gone past it in five seconds, anyway?

"Where is he?" asked aloud to Esmeralda.

"Over here," answered the captain's voice after a short silence.

Djali looked up and started to jump and bleat with excitement. The two gypsies looked around for a moment, and when they noticed Djali, they looked up too. The captain was on the caravan's roof, looking quite relieved but embarrassed as well.

He jumped down, the two looking at him questioningly while Djali tried to reach him in order to show his affection. The caravan was not very high, but not easy accessed either.

"How… How did you climb so swiftly up there…with your armor?" asked hesitantly Esmeralda, completely dumbfounded.

"Honestly, I don't even know myself…" answered the captain blushing. "Well, thank you for your time, and sorry about… this"

He almost ran off, feeling stupid. But no one could know what Fleur-de-Lys was capable of, so he didn't want to take any risks. Plus, the young dancer was very beautiful, and Fleur would have gone mad seeing him with such a woman near him.

Clopin didn't know if he should laugh or being impressed by such a 'performance,' maybe the two were used to people acting silly.

He couldn't stop the smile that was now on his lips. Nor could Esmeralda stop hers; the new captain was definitely amusing.

'_**Of course, they were killed by something sharp, but it was not a dagger or a sword;, the cuts are too imprecise. There was a broken mirror in the room they were, and some pieces were missing, maybe it was a piece of this mirror the killer used.'  
The gypsy been stabbed in his temple; Martin The Impossible had his throat cut and the two last night were stabbed wildly in the chest.'**_

Frollo stopped reading for a moment, grimacing. Maybe it had been better for him not to have seen this; he was still very sensitive at this time.

He put down the notes and massaged his temples. The more he read, the more he learnt how the previous murderer must have been completely mad.

His master had taken notes of many details, even the most sordid ones… some pieces of flesh which were found on the ground for example. The murderer must have been amazingly sadistic and cunning; or he had completely lost his mind.

And it was up to Frollo to deal with it all.

'_But why were these people gathered in such a place?'_ he still wondered. _'Is it the same reason as Catherine of Monterlo? Is it the same person who killed he; for the same reason, or a completely new one?'_

A knock interrupted his thoughts.

A man, he must have been a messenger, entered the room.

He politely introduced himself and handed Frollo a piece of parchment. He gave it to the minister hastily excused himself.

When Frollo saw the seal, he was both surprise and annoyance. It was the Ayzeu's seal, a family distantly related to the king; they were not appreciated, thanks to a nasty reputation.

The only Ayzeu he had met was the eldest son, who must be now the family's heir; his name was Robert, but Frollo had only met him for a short while. He remembered that Robert Ayzeu was very proud and wanted to be the Minister of Justice; but Frollo's master had preferred him to the very distant cousin of the king. Frollo guessed he must have been very upset, they never spoke again after that and Robert left Paris to live in Nimes. That was all he could remember of the man.

With a sigh, he unrolled the parchment and read it. It said that Robert Ayzeu was coming soon and wanted to meet him, the Minister of Justice. The parchment also mentioned that he must be welcomed with the honor he deserved.

Frollo felt somewhat amused; the man apparently wasn't expecting him to be still being the Minister of Justice. Well, he will be surprised.

But the preparation of any feast and arrangements for him as a guest would be complicated.

"But I don't think I have really the choice…" he whispered for himself.


End file.
